Oh the Irony
by ocoa
Summary: Reincarnation!Fic - Tsuna died unexpectedly and ironically. [Two shot]
1. Chapter 1

**This would be quite a short story. 2 chapters. I have always wanted to write a story around irony, so yeah... **

**Warning: Graphic death scene among other things. You might want to skip it. **

**Oh the Irony - Chapter 1**

Irony came at the strangest moments. Like when the girl you liked was a lesbian (Kyoko said yes when Haru finally gathered the guts to confess) or when your best friends were dating behind your back and you didn't even know they were until you accidentally walked in on them doing...things. In your office.

(Hayato, Takeshi and he had long agreed never to bring up the accident again and he immediately arranged for his office to be moved to another room. As well as for his desk to be changed. And basically everything else in the office.)

But perhaps the most ironic thing about his life was the way he _died_.

He was a mafioso, it really wasn't strange to die early. No it wasn't the fact he died, but _how_.

He died in a plane crash.

Yeah, funny, right?

He was basically doing the usual. Take plane from Italy to Vietnam for a meeting with another international trade partner (yes, the Vongola had influences all over the markets), meet up with Kyoko and Haru, run away from his very, very enthusiastic stalkers.

The usual.

Except he never made it to Vietnam.

The plane crashed. Using his intuition (almost legendary in the neighbourhood), he managed to cancel the flight for his guardians and a good majority of his staff. But it appears he had gotten a little conceited in the recent years.

He stayed on the thing, and the plane crashed.

He wouldn't know what happened. He lost consciousness when the plane had slammed him into the side of the cabin.

So no. He wouldn't have felt the agony of being impaled by flying projectiles. He didn't feel his arm getting torn off, or his legs being crushed under the pressure of the dropping altitude. He didn't feel his eyes get gouged from their sockets, or the ligaments in his neck ripping from the gravitational pull. He certainly didn't feel anything when he was engulfed by white hot flames as the plane exploded mid-air.

What he did remember was him waking up. He had blinked, and let his eyes wander the room in mild surprise. It hadn't felt too dangerous... The again his intuition may have been a little skewed since he passed over...

He let himself slack. His ring and gloves clearly weren't with him at the moment, and he didn't quite trust dead-him to be able to control his flames if need be.

He was dead after all. By theory, physiological barriers should be lifted, removing any limits he had created back in his life. Which would also mess with his control system and he would probably end up doing something bad.

Furthermore, he didn't know if he could summon his dying will at all. Far as he knew, he didn't have regrets.

"Then why are you still here, Decimo?" The smooth baritone voice murmured out from the shadows. He blinked, before twitching lightly as the room brightened in orange light, far too similar to the Sky flame to be otherwise. He blinked, and gave a wry grin as he noted the 9 figures towering over him.

Vongola Nono, died from gunshot wound at age 75, a year after retirement, by an enemy Mafioso as an act of rebellion against the Neo-Vongola movement.

Vongola Ottavia, died at age 30 from being poisoned by a civilian due to her feminist views. Her Guardians refused to accept her death and collapsed from depression.

Vongola Settimo, died at age 40 by suicide after his wife died from enemy crossfire. His Guardians raised the 10 year old Daniela post death.

Vongola Sesto, died at age 37 when his lover murdered him at the prospect of money. Guardians were MIA since the incident.

Vongola Quinto, died at age 31 from stab wounds inflicted by his guardians when they were mind controlled by an enemy Famiglia. He managed to destroy said family before dying from excessive bleeding. The guilt that his guardians faced brought them to nearly destroying Vongola before being detained and executed by the Vindice.

Vongola Quarto, died at age 48. He disappeared from the Vongola mansion, leaving only blood behind in his office. His body and the culprit was never found.

Vongola Terzo, died at aged 45 from an air-commutable virus created by enemy famiglia. He had quarantined himself from his guardians and died alone in his office.

Vongola Secondo was killed by his Guardians at age 33 when he became too bloodthirsty. Vongola records say that he died with a smile.

Vongola Primo died at age 35. No records were written on how he died. He was the one who had spoken.

"I wonder as well, Primo-san." The brunet sat down, noting at the back of his mind that the chair had just appeared from nowhere. His predecessors watched him, interest in their glowing eyes.

The blond coughed lightly, before lacing his fingers together and smiling. The other bosses recognised the look, and shifted into their business postures.

"Well, I suppose we should get to the point now shouldn't we?" Giotto's smile was different from the one he carried back when Tsuna was 14. It was more reminiscent of... Byakuran. That is... the original future Byakuran. The one who killed original future him.

He shook his head lightly, before returning his attention to Vongola Primo

"You, simply put, are dead. And currently you are drifting through this realm. Your official cause of death is airplane malfunction." The brunet nodded slowly, not disputing the vast understatement as Ricardo continued.

"The thing is you fucking brat, it wasn't an accident." The silence that followed was suffocating. Tsuna widened his eyes before sighing.

Not too strange. Sabotage would explain the sudden danger alarm that spiked through his head.

"Wait..." The voice belonged to Giotto, who looked slightly confused. "I thought you've already destroyed most of the mafia..." Tsuna looked at Giotto, a bit appalled by the other's naivety.

Enter collective sighs. It appeared Giotto did this often.

"Gio, dear..." Daniela explained slowly, making a pout of hurt appear momentarily on the blonde's face, "they were protesting the movement. But the strange thing was,"

"They didn't want to kill the fucking brat." Ricardo finished. Now_ that_ made Tsuna confused.

"They wanted to kidnap you, child. So they could use you to get your Guardians to come attack them, and show how contradictory the Vongola would have been." Fabio murmured, morbid amusement in his eyes.

"But they failed, and killed you." Quarto sighed.

Tsuna nodded slowly.

"Since this was not an expected death, we are going to have to place you somewhere else."

That sounded bad...

"Oh, how about there?"

"What the, Giotto, you bastard! Are you sure?"

"Well, it is heading straight for a BAD END anyway... Let's see if we put Tsunayoshi, it'll change..."

Tsuna didn't need Hyper Intuition to know it was probably a bad idea.

**I have a headcannon that Giotto died before the mafia crap was going on, so he has no clue how the mafia works, so it may seem like he's a bit childish here and there. **

**Review! Oh but I typed this in Google Docs on my phone so it might have a few problems here and there. Tell me if you find any alright?**


	2. Chapter 2

**I will be frank. I didn't expect there to be so many reviews. And maybe there would be a bit of hate after this chapter.**

**This is the last chapter. **

**Oh the Irony - Chapter 2**

Tsuna was enveloped in light, and ice prickled at his skin. He winced, and shielded his eyes from the light.

Suddenly, he felt smaller, and darkness enveloped him.

_Warm..._ He noted. The space felt smaller, and they convulsed violently around him. The walls pushed down on him, pushing him down what seemed to be a tunnel.

At then he was in the open, accompanied by the pained sounds of a woman and latex covered gloves leading him out. The latex gloves carefully slid him out, and carried him to where a woman was ready with a blanket.

She smiled gently at him, and wrapped him in a soft blue blanket. He was carried away, and he glanced curiously beyond the shoulder of the woman, he saw an exhausted brunet, pride in her face as she leaned into the caress of a tall dark haired man.

The man smiled encouragingly at his wife, and ran his hand through her sweaty bangs.

Ah... It would seem these two were his new parents.

The nurse set him down on a table, and he was tested in ways that was tinged in a pain he couldn't handle.

Childish tears slid down his cheeks, but no sound came out his throat. The nurse narrowed her eyes, a frown setting in.

The doctor walked in, and the nurse quickly turned to him. He caught snippets of the conversation.

"He's not making a sound...mute..."

The doctor whispered something back, before walking to him. The man smiled, and carried him up.

"Let's go back to your parents, Keita-kun. I imagine they must miss you."

_Keita? Was that his name?_

Tsuna - no, _Keita_\- closed his eyes.

It was a new life, might as well live as it is.

* * *

When Keita was two he managed to grasp the intellectual level of the world. There was barely any difference from his former world, so he managed to understand the physics of it.

In fact, the only difference was that there was no such thing as Dying Will Flames.

Keita could still feel his previous life as Sawada Tsunayoshi bubbling in the depths of his heart, mostly in whispers that sounded suspiciously like Giotto. His mother, Anya, also had laughed that sometimes, in a trick of the light, his black eyes shone an orange.

Nevertheless, Keita stayed silent, and it was decreed that somehow his vocal chords must have been affected someway during childbirth.

* * *

It was a routine day, his parents came home, they woke him from his nap and they are together.

But when they turned on the television, they saw videos of fire and airplanes and words that he understood from his previous life.

Hijack.

Plane.

Crash.

Death.

Terrorists.

One month later, they sat in the same room, trepidation in the air as the Americans declared war on Afganistan.

* * *

When Keita turned 4, his new mom had brought him to a music store. She, as a piano instructor, needed to purchase various scores for her students.

It was there he found the magic of the violin.

Unlike Tsuna, who couldn't play a musical instrument for even the moon, Keita found a connection to the elegant structure of the violin.

He had picked it up, and in a moment of fancy, turned his doe-like eyes onto his mom.

Rarely can someone withstand the full force of Keita's eyes.

So he went home happily, a violin case in one hand and a weekly reminder for an appointment with an instructor every Tuesday.

* * *

It was the same year that Keita understood what true hell was.

It was similar to his previous life. Different is scorned.

And he was mute- different.

"Why can't you talk? You're weird!" was essentially what the four year old him couldn't stand.

But patience came with being a mafia boss for the last ten years of your life. So he withstood.

Of course, he defended himself, and somehow he became "normal".

* * *

Age five was when he recieved his first phone.

Yes, apparently to his parents five is old enough to not lose something as expensive as a phone.

Mainly he used it to text, after all how else would he use it, but in his free time he enjoyed using it to capture the sky.

The big, blue sky.

It was a pastime.

* * *

At age six he was transferred to an elementary school. A special one.

There he found the blind Shiina, the deaf Haru and the intellectually disabled Terumi.

They often played a lot, and he enjoyed it. To be with people who understood was enjoyable.

The day he left the school, at aged 12, it was bright and sunny.

* * *

When he was 9, the news broadcasted of an African-American president. He finds amusement in the contradictory nature of his country.

If the new 'black' president was meant to signify the end of racial discrimination in the US, why broadcast his skin colour so much?

The night sky was a midnight sky tinged by the light of the lamps lighting up the hustle and bustle of New York City.

* * *

His school life carried on as usual and at age 15 he notes that he rarely spends time with his mom and dad anymore.

The two became increasingly busy, his mom having a fluctuation of piano-hopefuls and his dad starting to worry about the risk of early retirement.

Keita himself is abstract from their worries, and he still watches the TV.

He feels sorrow when the Malaysian airline disappears.

He feels disgust when another Malaysian airline was shot down.

He was horrified as the tension in Iraq grows so much worse.

The day after it rained.

* * *

He was age 17 when the war began. It started as an important announcement from President Obama.

"The situation in Iraq has gone worse. The recent attack on the Civil Rights Museum has stunned us all. For ISIS to do this has led to me making this decision."

The world was forced to end that day.

"As of the 19th of April 2015, I as President of the United States have declared war on the Islamic caliphate of ISIS."

The next day his aging father was packaged off.

The next time he returned it was in a state coffin and a piece of paper.

* * *

Sometimes when he hears the sounds of guns and his mom's muffled despair, he thinks of Sawada Tsunayoshi.

He thinks of Reborn, of his Guardians, of his previous friends and his previous parents.

He thinks of them but he can't remember their faces.

The sky was grey with the colour of gunpowder.

* * *

The world was ending.

50% was gone through war and violence.

30% in natural disasters.

And 19% were dying from diseases, of which Ebola was the most severe. It took away his mom.

Keita knew he was going to die. He knew it from the moment the plane was struck by a force greater than any turbulence. He knew it when he looked out the window and saw red flames dance on the metal wing.

He was meant to stop this.

_It's okay._

The last percent of humans left alive were fighting a losing battle. The world was reaching its end.

_You aren't God. _

If he wasn't mute he would have been screaming like the rest of the people on the crashing plane. But as he sat there, knuckles turning white as he gripped the seat, all he felt was morbid amusement.

_It was a foolish mistake on our part. _

It was a plane crash that sent him here.

It was a plane crash that brought him out.

Oh the irony.

The sky was black with no hope left.

**-BAD END-**

**Please note: There will not be a good end. **

**Also, Keita is a Japanese living in America.**


End file.
